


scars

by magnetocent



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, In a way, M/M, kinda angsty i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetocent/pseuds/magnetocent
Summary: Hal ponders over a confession from Barry.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been trying to finish the second chapter for my brojobs fic, but i ended up deleting a big chunk of it and now i have to restart the whole thing basically. so, to avoid doing that, i threw this together over the past couple days. it's a bit sloppy, i apologize.

Hal can’t sleep.

  
The lights from the street are too bright, and the throw he has on is too thin. He’s lying on a couch he’s not sure he’s welcome on. It’s quiet. Unfortunately, quiet enough for him to hear Barry’s incoherent mumblings coming from the bedroom. He’s used to hearing it, and normally it doesn’t bother him. Sometimes he’ll even try to make out the words and take guesses at what’s dancing around Barry’s dreams.

  
Tonight it’s just a reminder that he shouldn’t be here. A reminder of their last conversation, a little over a month ago.

 

_“I love you.”_

  
_“Yeah, love you too, man.”_

  
_“No Hal. I_ love _you.”_

 

He’d been held up in a medbay bed after a brawl with the Legion left him bloodied and concussed. His memory of that fight is hazy, but he gets glimpses sometimes when he thinks hard enough. Meeting the ground face first at a hundred miles per hour. A thrill of kinetic energy around him while the red of a torn cowl shouted his name at him. And then he woke up, and that cowl was gone and it was just Barry. Slumped in a cold metal chair, staring at the floor in front of him, alarmingly still. Hal barely had a chance to ask what the hell happened before Barry was on him. Checking his vitals and memory, and dropping that life changing bomb on him.

  
He sighs at the memory, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. It caught him off guard, that confession, and for the first time in a long time he was speechless. He didn’t know what to say, how to process Barry saying _that_ to _him_ of all people. So he laughed, shook his head and told Barry to stop fucking around ‘cause his _head hurt dammit_. And Barry frowned, averted his eyes and non-verbally admitted that it was _not_ a joke.

  
Hal could only apologize, and watch as Barry took the rejection in stride.

  
_“I knew that you probably didn’t—that you wouldn’t—that’s OK. I just needed to tell you. I needed you to know, in case one of us…I needed you to know.”_

  
Barry didn’t come back for a week after that, too busy with some master plans his Rogues cooked up. And by the time he could come visit, Hal was well enough to have broken out of medbay, get a call from Oa and be gone on a four week mission.

  
Hal sighs again at the memory. He shifts to adjust the stupidly small throw pillow under his head, and turns onto his back. His eyes lock onto the wall across from him. Frames filled with photos of Barry’s parents and friends cover a good chunk of it. He lets his gaze drag over some of them. There’s one of a young Barry with his mom in her vegetable garden, and another of her and Henry on their wedding day. There’s some of Barry with Ralph and Sue, a couple of Wally and Iris. Even one group picture of the League in their civvies that he somehow got them to take. He smiles at the selfie Barry got of himself, Iris and Clark, where Clark is Superman and Iris is so excited and Barry is winking cheekily at the camera.

  
Then he finds the one Barry has of him, taken just about a year after they first met. He remembers taking it. Stealing Barry’s phone and sneaking up behind him when he was reading. He took about fifty pictures, most blurred from his laughter or Barry’s shoulders jostling his arms. The one on the wall was the only one that came out half-decent. They’re pressed cheek to cheek, matching exaggerated grins on their faces. It was Hal’s favourite picture of them both, he liked it so much that he had Barry print out a copy for him to keep in his wallet.

  
Now all he can think of is how it makes them look like a couple.

  
Was Barry in love with him back then? If not, when did he start having those feelings? Hal doesn’t remember him ever mentioning anything about being into dudes before, is he just into Hal? He realizes these are all questions he should have asked a while ago. It was just such a huge shock that he didn’t think to have that talk with Barry. Didn’t really have a chance before he was called away again.

  
And now he’s back after a month off planet, crashing uninvited on Barry’s couch like an asshole.

  
The picture catches his eye again, and his gaze is drawn automatically to Barry like always. He feels a pull in his chest, the same one he feels when he’s a million miles away from Earth, eyes running over faded smiles and creases. There’s a small muttering of words that floats out from the bedroom and he has a sudden need to see Barry in person. To be able to see the smile in motion, reach out and be able to _touch_ —

He loves Barry, it’s an undeniable fact. Loved him since that first year after they met. And he knows it’s different from how he loves Oliver, like how he loves Jim, like brothers. There’s just something about referring to Barry as a brother that just doesn’t seem right. But he knows he loves him just as much—more than that.

  
Their friendship has always been different compared to the other’s he’s had. Not like any friends he made in the Air Force or in the Lantern Corps. But then again, Barry isn’t typically the type of person Hal chooses as a friend, or really even as an acquaintance. Hell, Barry would be the type of nerd he probably would have picked on back when he was in high school (thank god he grew out of _that_ ).

  
He’s different. And Hal likes that.

  
He likes that Barry’s a little shy, so he can drag him out of his shell. Likes that he’s wickedly smart, but doesn’t lord it over Hal like it makes him better than him. Likes that he’s rational and level-headed to balance out Hal’s own recklessness.

  
And that he’s understanding. That he knows Hal, and why he acts the way he does sometimes, and forgives him for his mistakes even though he doesn’t deserve it.

  
Now that he thinks about it, he likes a lot of things about Barry. His love of science. His stupid herbal teas, and how he likes to collect things. Those dumb khakis he wears sometimes and how he’s always tucking his shirts into his pants like a dork. He likes how his hair will get sun-bleached and even blonder when he comes for visits in Coast City. And that his teeth are just a little crooked. And how he’ll bite his lip when he makes a stupid pun because he knows Hal’s going to hate it.

  
And sometimes, when Barry wears certain shirts, he can see a bit of his lightning scar poking out under the collar. He likes that. He thinks about how sometimes he wants to reach out and touch it. Feel the texture, if it’s raised and hard skin, or soft and thin like the burn scars on Hal’s own body.

  
He shakes his head.

  
_OK, maybe I’m a little gay for him_ , he thinks to himself.

  
Shifting onto his side, he closes his eyes. He would never admit it, but the thought sends a jolt of fear through his chest. Not because Barry’s a guy, but because he’s the best friend Hal’s ever had. Ever will have, most likely. And Hal…he knows himself in relationships. He can’t do that to Barry. So he won’t say anything. He’ll forget about everything Barry said, and everything he thought about tonight and they’ll stay best friends. That’s how they’ve been for years now, that’s all he needs. Barry will move on eventually. Everything will work out for the best.

  
He cracks open an eye and takes one last look at the picture on the wall before closing it again, letting his exhaustion wash over him, and falling asleep.

 

 

The smell of bacon wakes him up the next morning. He can hear the sizzle and cracking of grease coming from the kitchen along with faint humming. When he opens his eyes, he’s surprised to see the room is dim. He looks over to the window to see a dark sheet tacked over it and furrows his eyebrows at it. Barry has never done anything like that for him before.

  
He gets up, puts his jeans back on, and spares one last glance over at that picture before making his way to the kitchen. When he gets there, Barry is putting the bacon onto a small plate. There’s a larger one next to it, full of pancakes, and the coffee maker is out with a full pot sitting in it. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Hal standing in the doorway yet, so Hal lets himself relax against the frame as he watches him finish up breakfast.

  
He’s wearing that old, ratty Central City Cougars tank he has from high school. Its way too small, and barely makes it to the seam of his sleep pants. And Hal knows for a fact that if Barry turned just enough, he’d be able to see a good few inches of that lightning scar. He rarely ever wears that shirt, which makes Hal think the universe is trying to tell him something.

  
Barry finishes making their plates and moves to bring them to the table. He jumps a little when he sees Hal in the doorway.

  
“Oh!” he gasps, then smiles, “You scared me.”

  
He gestures at the table with the plates, “Just in time for breakfast. Sit.”

  
Hal complies. The whole situation is almost normal. If Barry wasn’t consciously trying to avoid his eyes, Hal would think the whole confession was just some wild dream he had.

  
“Coffee?” he asks, voice still thick with sleep. Barry nods and busies himself with preparing him some. Hal takes a seat at the table, and stares at the huge plate of what looks to be chocolate chip banana pancakes. A mug of coffee is set beside him, then Barry speeds off to the living room. The whole apartment is suddenly brighter and Hal remembers the sheet on the window. He asks about it when Barry returns and sits down to eat.

  
“You were gone so long, I figured you’d need some extra sleep. It’s so bright in there even with the curtains,” he pauses to dig into his breakfast, shrugging, “Thought dimming the lights might help.”

  
Hal nods. He picks up the mug in front of him and takes a sip. It’s sickly sweet, the way he likes it when he comes back from a long mission. When he looks back up at Barry, he’s smiling at Hal, finally meeting his eyes for a moment.

  
“Good?” he asks.

  
Hal nods again, “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

  
And Barry’s smiles grows a little bigger as he looks away, enough to show a bit of his teeth. He asks a question, but Hal’s too distracted by the movement of his mouth to comprehend it.

  
“Hmm? What?”

  
Barry’s eyes are stay on his plate, but he chuckles a bit before asking his question again.

  
“I said, were you comfortable last night?” He waves his full fork around, “It’s getting cold, and that throw is pretty thin.”

  
Hal takes a bite of bacon, “I was fine. Tired enough that it didn’t matter.”

  
“I’ll take out the extra blankets from the closet for you.” Barry says. There’s a small, stuttering pause in the movement of his fork on the plate before he adds, “If you’re planning on staying.”

  
The bacon Hal swallows sticks in his throat. It's always been an unspoken thing, Hal stays until he’s called back to Oa, or gets a new apartment. Sleeps on the couch and takes up that whole side of the living room until he has to go. There’s never been a question of if he wants to stay, or if Barry wants him to leave.

  
“Yeah,” he nods awkwardly, “The smurfs want me back in a few days so...is that OK?”

  
Barry nods silently. The tenseness in the air, the awkwardness, makes him wonder if it might be best if he left. If he should give Barry, and himself, some space. To make it easier on both of them to just get over these feelings. The thing is, they’ve had a month of space. Literal space, millions of miles, between them. And it will be that way again soon, and Hal doesn’t want to waste the time he does have with his best friend. And he definitely doesn’t want to waste it watching Barry walk on eggshells around him like he think he’s going to freak out on him for saying the wrong thing. He wants to show him he’s not uncomfortable with it, that things can still be the same between them.

  
“If it’s too cold, maybe I can crawl in with you,” he jokes, huffing out a small laugh before he actually _thinks_ about why it would be a terrible thing to say. He doesn’t look at Barry at first, instead training his eyes on his plate and trying to act casual. When he notices almost no movement coming from the other side of the table he looks up. Barry’s mouth is twisted into a sad frown, his shoulders stiff.

  
Hal doesn’t know why he said that. Well, that’s not true, he knows why—because that’s what he’d want, to crawl into bed and be wrapped up in Barry’s almost furnace like warmth. But Barry doesn’t know that, won’t ever know it. To him it’s a jab at his feelings, salt in an open wound. Hal feels like _shit_.

  
The silence between them is getting longer, and more awkward, and he can’t bring himself to say anything. He doesn’t want to own up to his own feelings or try to shrug it off as a bad joke. Barry hasn’t said a word either. Still slouched over his plate, he pushes his food around.

  
“Sorry,” Hal mumbles while shoving another piece of bacon in his mouth. Across from him, Barry stops fiddling with his fork, places on the plate and wipes his hands distractedly on a napkin.

  
“It’s OK,” he sighs, “It’s been a while since I told you, and you’ve been busy. You probably haven’t even thought about it since—“

  
“I thought about it a lot,” Hal interrupts. And it’s not a lie, it was almost all he thought about since he left.

  
Barry’s eyebrows raise, “You did?”

  
“Uh, yeah,” Hal replies. He swallows thickly, suddenly unsure of himself, “Kinda hard not to, y’know?”

  
Barry looks guilty at that. He runs a hand through his hair, “I hope you weren’t distracted or anything.”

  
Hal waves him off, “Nah, don’t worry about it, dude. It was cool. I’m not dead, right?”

  
He gets a dubious look when he says that, and he’s pretty sure he’s about to be on the receiving end of Barry’s ‘Distracted Superheroing’ lecture for the umpteenth time, but then the alarm on Barry’s watch goes off. And while he would have gladly sat through that lecture silently just to diffuse that awkward situation, he’s glad he doesn’t have to.

  
Barry turns off the alarm, “Gotta get to work.”

  
There’s a burst of energy that ripples through the air around him. When it stops a second later his plate is empty and he’s already standing to bring it to the sink.

  
“Isn’t it kinda pointless to speed eat your food?” Hal asks, vaguely disgusted.

  
Barry grins at him, shrugging, “Hey, it’s better than not eating at all.”

  
Hal looks down at his half eaten breakfast. When he looks up, Barry’s giving him a pointed look, so he takes a few more bites to appease him. Not that he’s not going to finish anyway, because this is the best meal he’s had since the last time he stayed over.

  
“I don’t need to be told to finish my plate, Bar,” he says over a mouthful of food, “Go.”

  
He catches a small grin before Barry speeds off. Hal’s barely finished another quarter of his meal by the time he gets back, the smell of aftershave and the squeak of shoes announcing his presence.

  
“Acceptable?” he asks, grinning and holding his arms out beside him. He’s wearing khakis and a dress shirt like always, topped off with shiny non-slip loafers and his trademark bowtie. Hal rolls his eyes.

  
“Horrible,” he says, getting up from the table, “Get some new clothes, old man.”

  
He stalks over, ignoring Barry’s returned eye roll as he stands in front of him. His bowtie is crooked, so Hal reaches out and adjusts it.

  
“You know, khakis and button shirts are classic work attire. Half the guys in the lab wear that.” Barry argues. Hal scoffs at him. He takes his time to put Barry’s collar back in place, smoothing it, and the fabric along his shoulders, down.

  
“Yeah, as _work_ clothes, not everyday clothes.” He replies. After he’s finished his inspection of the rest of Barry’s outfit, his gaze fixates on the bowtie again. He brings his hand over to fiddle with the button underneath. If he were to undo it, he’d see that scar. If he slipped his fingers in the gap between buttons, he could feel it.

  
The movement of Barry’s throat, the small click of his swallow, draws Hal’s gaze up the line of his neck and jaw. He doesn’t realize how close he’s standing until their gazes meet.

  
Barry’s watching him through half-lidded eyes, mouth parted slightly, and he must not realize it. He _doesn’t_ because otherwise he’d blink out of it and awkwardly turn away. But that doesn’t happen, and Hal doesn’t turn away either. Instead, he takes the hand that still rests on Barry’s shoulder and runs it down his arm, trails his fingers over the wrist until they sneak their way through Barry’s and he feels the slight pain of an electric shock transfer between them. The spark seems to jolt Barry into the present. His eyes widen, mouth parting more in an attempt to apologize. But then Hal’s leaning forward, and he’s pressing their lips together.

  
It’s a short kiss, but soft. Tender in a way that Hal never thought he could be with someone.

  
When they part, Hal doesn’t open his eyes. He just brushes his nose along Barry’s and rests their foreheads together. Barry’s breath ghosts across his lips, and Hal can almost hear the questions zipping through his friend’s brain.

  
“You should get to work.” He says, in an attempt to keep those questions from being asked, “You’re going to be late.”

  
He leans back enough to look at Barry again. He’s blinking up at him, eyebrows turned up in question.

  
“I-“ Barry’s stutters. His eyes dart down to Hal’s lips for a split second, “I’m always late.”

  
Hal can’t argue that.

  
“Yeah, but usually you’re doing some good deed not—“ he pauses, grinning slyly at the less than pure thoughts that flood his mind. A flush makes its way onto Barry’s cheeks, and he swallows thickly. He’s still looking at him in wonder, like he can’t tell if he’s dreaming or not. And Hal has no idea what the hell the thinks he’s doing, letting himself have this at the expense of both their feelings.

  
“I wasn’t supposed to do this.” He admits.

  
Barry gives a small nod, smiling slightly, “Sounds like you.”

  
His smile turns sad, and he steps away. Hal isn’t really sure what to do, so he tightens his grip on Barry’s hand.

  
“We can talk about it when you get home.” He says, bringing his other hand up to rest on Barry’s neck. Barry leans into the touch, but he still looks unsure, his gaze dropping to a spot on the floor.

  
“I’ll still be here.” Hal reassures him, “I promise.”

  
Barry nods, “OK.”

  
He hesitates a moment, then presses a small kiss to Hal’s lips before he steps back. His eyes search Hal’s once more before he nods again and pulls his hand back. In a flash he’s gone.

  
Hal stays where he is for a moment, eyes still looking for Barry’s afterimage long after it’s gone.

  
Then he turns back to the table, looking down at it and the remains of his breakfast. And then to the seat Barry occupied barely ten minutes before. He wants to jump up and down, and at the same time crawl under that table and try not to cry.

  
He doesn’t do either. He sits down, picks up his fork, and tries not to think of all the ways he could fuck this up.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal struggles through the fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure how i feel about this chapter...i got a bit self-indulgent and tried to tie it in with Hal's relationship issues from the previous part...there's a good amount of fluff so you can at least enjoy that if the rest of it is crap :)
> 
> Edit: fixed up a few things and now Hal's coffee doesn't disappear into thin air when they're in bed.

It’s late when he gets back to Central City. Late enough that he can touch down on Barry’s fire escape in full uniform without being seen. He’s glad for it, not wanting to bother with having to walk to the building and be buzzed in and climb the stairs like a normal person.

He’s too tired, and his muscles ache from his mission. And not in the good, ‘I got beat to hell but still won the fight’ way. The, ‘I spent too much time sitting in a chair made for an alien listening to one yammer on about _politics_ ’ way. He can feel the stiff pain in his lower back as he climbs through the window.

All he wants is to climb into a nice, comfortable, _warm_ bed. Preferably the one in the next room over with the hot blonde occupying it.

He can help but grin as he powers down. When he thinks about being able to curl up in Barry’s arms again, about being near him and kissing him and touching him…

He sighs happily. Those few days they had together before he left were some of the best of his life. He didn’t know what to expect when Barry got home that night, but what did happen is probably way better than anything he could have imagined.

More gentle kisses, being able to finally _touch_ him. Spending the day in bed together and exploring every inch of each other. And doing everything they usually did. Watching games and getting pizza. Kicking Cold’s ass when he decided to try to rob the art museum.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been as happy as he was in those few days. But he knows he could be again as soon as he gets to that bed.

When he enters the bedroom, he immediately undresses. He unbuttons his jeans and shucks them off, attention flitting between his actions and the blanket covered form in the bed. Barry’s muttering again, which makes Hal smile to himself. He reaches for the hem of his shirt, but a noise comes from the bed that sounds vaguely like his name and he pauses.  

“ _Hal_.” Barry says again, a little more clearly now. Hal stands up straight, turns his head to listen more intently.

“Hal, _please_.”

This time the words are slurred out with an edge of desperation, Barry shifts around a bit, his breathing picking up. Hal smirks to himself. He strips off his shirt and slinks to Barry’s side of the bed, fully prepared to crawl in on top of him and make whatever dream he’s having come true. But that plan is cut short when he’s finally able to see Barry’s expression. His eyebrows are pinched together harshly, and the severe line of a frown cuts across his face. The pillow in his arms is pressed tight against his chest, fingers clenching onto it for dear life.

“ _Hal!_ ” he cries out. Hal’s on his knees at the side of the bed in an instant. He grabs at Barry’s shoulder, shakes him and taps at his face to wake him.

“Barry,” he calls to him, “Barry, c’mon wake up. I’m here.”

Barry jolts awake with a gasp, blinking rapidly at Hal’s form in the darkness. Hal can feel him trembling under his fingers and he pulls him in, resting Barry’s head on his shoulder and running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs, “I’m here.”

Rigid muscles relax after a second, and he feels Barry sigh relief into his shoulder. Arms wrap tightly around his torso, fingers biting into the skin of his back. Without warning, he’s pulled forward and over Barry’s body, then pressed down into the mattress. Barry’s lips are on his immediately, his fingers finding purchase between the lines of his ribs. He brings up his own hand to rest it on the back of Barry’s head, taking control of the kiss and guiding his movements. It isn’t hard, with Barry still just on the edge of consciousness.

They kiss only for a few moments, the lack of air finally breaking them apart. Barry nuzzles into Hal’s neck after, pressing a kiss there before looking back up into his eyes.

“You’re back.” He says, gaze still dreamy. He brings his hand to brush Hal’s cheek, and Hal smiles and nods. His fingers brush at the short hairs on the back of Barry’s neck.

“Yeah,” he replies. He takes in the purple shadows under his eyes, ones that weren’t there when he left, “You OK?”

Barry still seems like he’s half asleep. He nods slowly, thumbing softly at Hal’s cheekbone, eyes still foggy.

“Just a nightmare.” He explains. And with the movement of his thumb on Hal’s cheek, and the way his eyes dart across his face, it sounds more like a reassurance for himself.

Hal brings his own hand up to brush the hair off of Barry’s forehead. It’s getting long -- longer than Barry usually allows it to -- and Hal briefly wonders how long he can talk him out of getting it cut. Barry sighs into the touch, eyes closing.

“You been having a lot of those?” Hal asks. He doesn’t get an answer right away, Barry is still pressing his head into Hal’s hand. He looks so tired.

“Bar?”

Barry sighs, rests his cheek on Hal’s chest, “I get them once in a while, you know that. Part of the job, right?”

Hal keeps his fingers in Barry’s hair, petting and massaging.

“But those aren’t about _me_.” He retorts. Barry tenses against him for a moment before he lifts himself up to look Hal in the eye again.

“How did you--?”

“You talk in your sleep,” Hal interrupts, grinning, “Did you not know that?”

“Darryl used to give me guff about it when I was a kid.” Barry replies. He looks like he wants to be embarrassed, but is too tired to care, “No one’s mentioned it since. Thought I grew out of it.”

He rubs at his eyes a bit, and Hal feels a small pang of guilt that he’s keeping him up if he hasn’t been sleeping. But Barry doesn’t seem to mind, he probably wants to stay up now that Hal’s back. But he yawns, big and long, and Hal can see his eyes water with the intensity of it. So he moves him to rest back on his chest, then runs his hand down his arm in a long soothing motion. He repeats it and tries to draw eyes closed, but Barry resists. Hal can see him blinking rapidly in an attempt to stave off sleep a little while longer.

They lie like that for a little while. Gravity presses Barry’s body pleasantly into Hal’s own, and if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel the rapid pulse of Barry’s heartbeat against his abdomen. And despite its speed it’s relaxing, and it makes him feel so _content_.

A thought bursts through the dreamy, satisfied haze of his mind that he could do this forever, and that relaxed feeling is cut short. His heartrate picks up in his chest as he tries to control his breathing, and reminds himself that he shouldn’t _think_ things like that. That forever doesn’t happen to people like him.

He feels Barry squeeze him slightly where he’s holding him, and there’s a kiss nuzzled into a ridge of muscle in his ribcage. It’s calming, but the gesture brings back that pleased, too comfortable feeling. It’s putting him on edge. He needs a distraction from the thoughts of _forever_ and _home_. Needs to bring himself back to _now_.

“You never answered my question.” He says, a little too loudly. Barry slides his head back to look up at him, hums a questioning sound.

“The nightmare.” Hal reminds him. There’s some shifting against him, and Barry slides his head back to look away. His fingers brush at Hal’s side a bit, trace patterns and shapes into his skin.

“Some of them are about you, yeah.” He answers, and shrugs, “I just get worried, you know? Even before, when what I felt for you was platonic. I’d get them then, too.”

That surprises him. Though he knows on some level it shouldn’t. Barry has few people in his life, but everyone who is there he cares for very deeply. Takes so much of his time to look out for them, know what they’re up to, and help them with any problem, big or small. Barry’s friends are his friends for life, his _family_.

And Hal—he tries his hardest to wrap his head around the fact that he’s one of those people. That Barry -- kind, loving, generous Barry – can feel the way he does about _him_.

 _It won’t last_ , a voice in his head reminds him. He shuts his eyes tight against the thought, blocks it and any similar ones from his mind.

“What happened?” He asks, trying to distract himself, “Tonight, in your dream, what--?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Barry interrupts, shaking his head. He lifts himself off of Hal, pushing over to lie beside him instead, propping his head up on his arm, “It was just a dream; it doesn’t matter.”

Hal turns his body toward him, props his head up as well to look him directly in his eyes.

“It does.” He stresses, “You’re always on my ass about talking this shit out. It must be a good idea, right?”

There’s a pause, and it almost seems like Barry will heed his own advice, but he just shakes his head.  

“I really don’t want to think about it.” He says finally. He looks off to a point behind Hal’s head and frowns. Hal thinks back to just before he woke Barry up, the anguish in his voice. It gives him a good idea of what dark images might have plagued him, in sleep and possibly while he was awake.

“I’m not hurt.” He says, and rests a hand on Barry’s forearm, “They just wanted me to oversee a peace accord in the sector.” He shrugs a shoulder, and gestures vaguely, “Things got a bit fucked up and delayed. That’s why it took a little longer than expected.”

Barry nods, moves his arm enough to clasp their hands together, “What happened?”

“Just a disagreement on some terms.” Hal replies, “Really boring stuff.”

He shifts so he’s lying flat again, and wiggles his fingers where they’re still laced with Barry’s. He sees the corner of his mouth turn up a little out of the corner of his eye, and smiles too.

“I knew you’d be OK,” Barry says quietly, “Doesn’t stop me from getting worried, though. And you have been gone for a month.”

Hal’s mouth goes slack, body pausing in all movement.

“A _month_?”

“Yeah,” Barry nods, “Give or take a few days. How long did you think it was?”

“Like a week and a half tops!” He exclaims. A month? That can’t be right.

The planet he was on did have a slower rotation than Earth, but the days didn’t seem that much longer. He tries to do the math in his head, but the numbers get jumbled in its tired state. His phone is in his jacket pocket, and he’s pretty sure it lost its charge…a _month_ ago, so he has no way to check the date. Not that he really needs to, Barry wouldn’t lie to him. 

“Shit, Bar. I’m sorry. If I knew—“

“I know.” Barry interrupts, reaching out to touch Hal’s shoulder for a brief moment, “It crossed my mind that you lost track of time.”

“I’m _sorry_.”

Barry smiles, eyebrows pinching upward. He disentangles their hands so he can cup Hal’s cheek, thumb stroking at it.

“It’s alright, hon,” he reassures, “You’re here now, that’s all I care about.”

The use of the endearment startles Hal, puts everything in perspective for one brief moment as he realizes that he’s in a relationship with _Barry_. That he’s lying in bed with his _best friend_ , is touching him in intimate ways. That if he wanted to he could hold him again, or kiss him.

So he does. Leans up and guides his mouth to Barry’s, if only to hide the inexplicable heat that rises to his cheeks.

“I am.” He says as he pulls away, “And I’m all in one piece.”

He gestures down to his body, and the lack of scrapes and wounds covering it. And when Barry drags his eyes down to inspect, he may stretch out a bit, let himself fall into a pose. Fingers come up to draw a line down his chest and abs, and his dick twitches in interest. His own exhaustion has never stopped him from sex before, but Barry’s—he can tell he’s having trouble staying up as it is, and if Barry were to fall asleep during…

Well, he could do without that blow to his ego, thank you very much.

“Seeing some action would have been worth the bruises,” he adds when Barry finds a small burn scar on his chest. It’s a remnant from a bar fight he was in soon after he was discharged. The other guy burned him with a cigarette, and he remembers how good it felt to knock his lights out. The adrenaline running through his veins making him feel larger than life.

He rubs at his eyes, “I can’t stand that diplomatic crap.”

Barry chuckles, “God forbid you’d have to sit and listen to someone talk for more than five minutes.”

“Says the guy who makes the entire table vibrate if a League meeting goes on too long.”

“That was once!” Barry argues, and pinches at Hal’s side, “And even still, I have an excuse.”

“Kay, whatever,” Hal says flippantly, “Blame your powers all you want, you _know_ punching bad guys is way more fun.”

“Mm, yeah,” Barry agrees, somewhat easily, “But I still would rather have you come back to me in one piece.”

“Nah, you’d love taking care of me.” Hal drawls, smirking, “Nursing me back to health.”

His smirk widens to a full, lecherous grin as a sudden image of Sexy Nurse Barry pops into his head. And Barry seems to catch on quickly to that thought, if his disapproving frown says anything.

“Nurse Barry.” Hal teases, “In one of those tight little white outfits, and that cute hat.”

He leans in, tries to kiss Barry again, but a hand comes up trying to push him away. There’s a bit of a struggle as Hal pushes back against it and continues in his attempt.

Barry’s only barely able to stifle his laughter as they wrestle. When fingers snake their way across his stomach, up his side and into his armpit, he calls out and jumps back, slapping the hand away. And Hal takes that opportunity to pin him down and get his kiss.

When he pulls back, Barry’s flushed and beaming up at him. Despite the tired circles around them and the darkness in the room, his eyes are bright. It’s not the first time he’s seen Barry like this, so unabashedly happy, but it feels like it is, like it’s the first time it was really because of Hal himself.

And it feels _amazing_. He wants to see Barry like this always. Wants to tell him how absolutely gorgeous he is like this, how much he loves it.

“You’re pretty.” He blurts out instead. And, _wow Hal_ , he thinks, _real smooth_. But it still gets Barry to blush again and bite his lip shyly, so he figures it’s all good.

“If that’s your attempt to get me into a sexy nurse outfit, you’ll have to try _a lot_ better.” Barry jokes over his embarrassment.

“Yeah?” Hal replies, eyebrow raised in response to the challenge, “Maybe next time I get into it I’ll let the other guy get a few hits on me. You’ll feel so bad for me, you’d do anything to make me feel better.”

Barry barks out a laugh.

“Yeah, OK.” He says sarcastically. Then he grabs at Hal’s chin with his full palm, squeezing his cheeks so his mouth puckers out, “Come back to me all beaten up on purpose and _I’ll_ beat you up.”

Hal twists his way out of the hold, “Hey now,” he says, grabbing the now free hand and pinning it down, “I thought you liked me.”

Fingers lace with his, and Barry looks up at him with a lazy smile.

“I do,” he concedes. His other hand reaches up to brush along the line of Hal’s neck, “Believe it or not, sometimes I like it when you get a little reckless.”

He pauses, then adds emphatically, poking his finger to Hal’s nose, “Sometimes. And not when it’s on purpose.”

Hal grins, and purposefully ignores the last part, “Gets you hot, right?”

That earns him an eye roll. He props himself up on his elbows.

“What else do you like about me?” he asks jokingly. Barry doesn’t reply at first. He seems to take the question seriously, mouth pursing and eyes searching. The scrutiny makes Hal extremely uncomfortable. After what may be the longest seconds of his life, Barry answers.

“Everything.” He says simply.

Hal reels back.

“ _Everything_?” he repeats.

Barry nods.

“Yup.” He replies without hesitation.

“No,” Hal laughs, disbelieving, “No, that’s—“

“What?”

He stares down at Barry for a long moment, trying to find something – a cheeky curve of lips, a raising of an eyebrow – any sign that might point to a joke. But there’s nothing but slow blinks and complete sincerity in Barry’s face. He’s suddenly bought back to that medbay bed. The quiet confession of _love_.

“Nothing.” He says finally, and swallows the lump in his throat, “I like everything about you too.”

And Barry nods, closes his eyes against the kiss Hal lays on his cheek. They don’t open when he pulls back, so he quietly, slowly, lifts himself off of Barry to lie beside him. He reaches up and pokes at his cheek.

“Bar?”

His only answer is a small sleepy moan, so he tugs the blanket over them both. Tucking himself into Barry’s side, he wraps his arm around him and rests his head on his chest. Despite his earlier exhaustion, he isn’t able to fall asleep for a long while after.

\--

The next morning he wakes up alone, which doesn’t surprise him. Though he himself wakes up fairly early (a residual habit he picked up from his time served), Barry still manages to get up earlier. Hal figures his powers have something to do with that, but it doesn’t explain why he has to _leave_ right away every morning.

He curls deeper into the covers, pouting. There’s a short moment of time where he tries to sleep more, but it’s not warm enough. It doesn’t matter anyway, as there’s a _woosh_ of air in the room, and the sound of two doors clicking shut that signals his boyfriend’s return.

Hal doesn’t move, just cracks open an eye and watches Barry pulls off his socks and sweater. When he turns back towards the bed, Hal quickly shuts his eye again. He waits until he hears footsteps near the bed, then reaches out and tugs Barry down on top of him.

He knows Barry could stop him before his arms left the covers, but he doesn’t. Instead he falls into the movement, letting himself be dragged in to Hal’s lap and a kiss.

“Where’ve you been?” Hal asks when they pull apart. Grinning, Barry leans over to the side table to grab what turns out to be a McDonald’s coffee to show him. Hal squints up at it, then at Barry.

“You left to get me shitty coffee?” He asks, eyebrow raising as Barry hands the still hot cup to him.

“Not _just_ coffee.”

He leans over again, this time over the side of the bed to the floor. The sound of crumpling paper bag reaches Hal’s ears and he knows what it is before he even sees it.

“Oh fuck,” he says, excited, “McMuffins or McGriddles?”

“McBoth.” Barry replies, smirking and wiggling the bag. It looks close to bursting, and Hal knows along with his three sandwiches are about ten more for Barry as well.

“Hashbrowns?” He asks.

“Of course.”

“Fuck, you’re the best.” He says, pulling him in for another kiss. And another, and more after that. Barry eventually has to pull away to set the food bag and coffee back on the table so they don't get dropped and ruined. He wraps his hand around the back of Hal’s head when he starts kissing at his neck and shoulders, and when Hal looks back up at him he’s got a small, fond smile on his lips.

“What’s this about?” Hal murmurs, poking at the smile before planting a kiss there.

“I like the way you look in the morning.” Barry replies softly. He runs his hand down to Hal’s neck, massaging his fingers into the muscle.

Hal sits up, pushing Barry up as well, enough to slide him comfortably, warmly into his lap. He leans over enough to look at himself in the mirror in the corner of the room. His hair is mussed, tangled from sleep. And his skin is paler from his time off Earth, freckles along with dark circles contrasting to make him look somehow _more_ tired than he feels.

“I look like shit.” He replies, running a hand through his own hair, trying to tame it. It’s rare that he ever looks this bad, but it happens. Whenever he’s hungover, or when he has back to back missions with little-to-no Earth time in between. Overworked and under-tanned. He can’t believe he let anyone _see_ himself like this.

A thumb comes up to trace along one of those dark rings. He returns his gaze to Barry to see him frowning. Hal in turn reaches up to poke at Barry’s own fading circles.

“No, you look cute.” Barry says with a small chuckle, “Tired, but cute.”

Hal feels that heat rushing to his cheeks again. It’s ridiculous. How the hell is _Barry_ of all people able to make him blush this much, in such stupid ways?

“Shut up.”

“Are—“ Barry blinks down at him, wide eyed, “Are you _blushing_?”

Hal glares back at him defiantly, “No.”

“Oh man, you are!”

His grin stretches so far it could break his face in two, “Aww.”

Hal pushes at his shoulder, “Fuck off. You’re making me feel like a girl.”

Barry laughs, loud, with a disbelieving edge.

“Hey,” he says, when he calms, “men can be cute, too.”

Hal doesn’t need to be told that. He sees cute men everyday he’s on Earth—and sometimes when he’s not. Hell, he can see one right now. With wind tousled blond hair, and cheeks still reddened from the cold. A big cheeky grin with those slightly crooked teeth that he _loves._

 

 

 _Loves_.

He breathes out shakily, heartrate picking up.

_Loves. Loves. Loves. He loves him. He **loves** him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—_

Barry’s eyebrows furrow, and those teeth are hidden from view behind a frown.

_This won’t last. He won’t be here forever. He’ll **hate** you just like the rest of them. How could you even **think** this was a good idea. The one person, the **one** person in your life who—_

“Hal, what’s wrong?”

Barry’s voice barely cuts through his thoughts. He’s now just a heavy weight in Hal’s lap, the hand that touches his cheek is too warm. He has to move.

He lifts Barry off of him, and climbs too quickly out of the bed. His feet tangle in the sheets and he almost face plants into the floor.

“I have to go.”

He dresses quickly, ignores Barry as he calls his name over and over and tries to talk to him. He’s almost at the door when Barry’s voice finally stops him.

“Wait!”

It’s desperate. He stops as he’s grabbing his jacket off the chair. Barry’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his arms flitting to various positions around himself before he finally just rests them at his sides.

“I—at least stay and eat?” He tries, “Then if you want you can go.”

Hal takes a moment. If it were anyone else he’s be gone by now, he knows that. But there’s something in Barry’s voice, his body language. He’s not mad, or even disappointed. He just looks _defeated_.

He should be letting Hal go. That’s what they all do. Let him go, and if he comes back they slam the door in his face.

Barry’s never been one to do that to him.

He should every time. He _should_ , but he doesn’t. He’s not.

“Okay.” Hal hears himself agree. And he’d regret it if it didn’t bring some light back into Barry’s face.

“Okay.” Barry breathes. He clears his throat, “I’ll bring everything to the living room, we can watch some TV. Why don’t you choose something?”

Hal nods silently, and watches Barry _walk_ into the bedroom, and knows he’s fucking up.

He makes his way across the apartment, stopping abruptly in front of the couch. He feels overwhelmed. The thoughts swirling in his head are suffocating and he can’t make it stop.

His gaze catches the window. It’s cold enough that it could snow, but he rushes to open it anyway.

The gust of wind that assaults him is a comfort. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine he’s higher up, there’s no floor beneath him and he’s in the suit. He takes a few deep breaths, grips the sill—

He opens his eyes after a few minutes. Grounded back in reality, he stares through the tiny holes of the window screen. Through the sound of traffic he hears music—a song he recognizes, something his dad used to listen to but it sounds like an older version, more like jazz. It’s coming from an apartment in the building. It’s nice. He breathes out long and slow, and bows his head. His fingers are turning a harsh purple-red against the white of the sill. It’s a sudden reminder of the cold air still flooding into the room. A shiver runs through his body as Barry steps quietly up behind him.

Hal doesn’t let go of the window, just looks at him over his shoulder. Barry has a blanket in one hand and Hal’s coffee in the other. He looks concerned, but he doesn’t say anything, hasn’t moved an inch from where he stopped. Hal briefly feels like one of the wild animals Barry’s always trying to approach. Except Barry’s always calm when he does that, body relaxed and friendly. Now he’s tense, shoulders pulled tight, and looking withdrawn into himself, like _he’s_ the one that did something wrong.

And Hal doesn’t understand why. Just like he didn’t understand why Barry didn’t just let him leave. There’s no anger, no cold shoulder. No half-mumbled remarks steeped in resentment, or objects thrown at his head. Just Barry, offering comfort and warmth, not complaining about the cold air that may very well kill the potted plant on the sill.

And yet Hal still can’t move from where he stands. He needs that feeling of wind moving around him. He doesn’t know what to do, how to let this just _happen,_ so he reaches out. Barry holds out the blanket, expecting Hal to take it, but Hal grabs his wrist instead and pulls him forward. He wraps an arm around his shoulders and tucks him into his side. He gives him a small squeeze before he lets him throw the blanket over both their shoulders.

And he holds him through however long it takes for that overwhelming feeling to fade. Barry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to pry into what happened. He’s a warm, patient weight pressed into Hal’s side, wrapped around his waist.

The coffee is placed down by Hal’s hand, now just resting on the sill. Hal stares at it for a moment before closing his eyes against another gust of wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song mentioned in the last part of this is doris day's version of 'dream a little dream of me' which you can listen to here if you want: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7j8wa9sWOE 
> 
> i had it on repeat for most of the time i was writing this

**Author's Note:**

> someday i'm gonna write a BarryIris fic based around the idea of that picture of them and superman!clark.


End file.
